#pavellan

 The summer in Val Royeaux brought in all sorts, especially those looking to vacation during the warmer seasons. Waves crashed against the sunbaked rocks, sending a cold spray onto the public beaches. Women carried parasols and lounged on chaises. Men stood together in the sand, the occasional pipe or cigar in hand as they discussed trade deals or other business, as their servants carted wine between them. 

The children were the liveliest.  Herds of them ran among the dunes, searched for shells, chased the gulls, or raced toward the incoming waves. Without the school semester holding them down, they acted like lunatics, screeching and laughing to their hearts’ content, or until a parent sent a servant to corral them. 

Dorian walked the beach in a plum shirt. Its silk fabric guttered in the wind, while sand slipped into the crevices of his sandals.  When his Amatus had suggested Orlais as their meeting spot, he nearly laughed.  He couldn’t imagine spending two weeks around scores of pompous Orlesians, but Vivienne had helped make their arrangements, and it had been a relatively peaceful trip so far. 

Lavellan walked beside him. His hair tied back, his shirt unbuttoned at the chest for a sliver of skin, and his face turned toward the sun.  

Dorian didn’t think twice about intertwining their fingers, holding tight to the man who stole his heart.  

Lavellan turned to him and smiled.  “I’ve missed this, Vhenan.  I’ve missed us.” 

“I’ve missed it, too.” Dorian answered.  “I know it’s not been easy, and that these scant few weeks don’t make up for the months that we’re apart… But while I’m here, I’m yours, and only yours.”  His hand is lifted, and brought to Lavellan’s lips, where he receives a tender kiss to his knuckles. 

“Ar lath ma.” 

“I-” 

A shadow descended.  At once, the warmth of summer twisted into the telltale chill of danger.  Dorian watched as Lavellan’s ears shifted to a point, and as his keen eyes darted to the left, glaring at the man who had stopped in their path. 

Dorian followed his gaze, and found an Orlesian Noble staring down at them as he gradually sank deeper into the sand.  He crossed his hands over his chest, his domino mask painted a soft cream and robin egg’s blue to accommodate the beach’s setting.  It, alongside his carefully sculpted beard and goatee, did nothing to aid his attempted intimidation. 

He leered into Lavellan’s face, particularly intrigued by the sight of a Vallaslin.  He parted his lips, looking like he might slander an elf for walking in an area populated by nobility, but then Lavellan smiled, and pulled Dorian closer.

“Pardon us,  Lord Furtune, we didn’t mean to get in your way.” 

The Orlesian, Furtune, raised his eyebrows at being addressed by name.  Then, looking over Lavellan again, the pieces clicked into place, and recognition registered on his face.  “My family vacations on these beaches every summer, and the last person I expected to see was the Inquisitor himself.  Shouldn’t you be in the mountains somewhere, tending to your armies?” 

Dorian knew a snake when he saw one, and Orlesian’s were as venomous as his cohorts in the Imperium.  Furtune wore a large ring on his index finger, embedded with his family’s crest.  That’s likely how Lavellan named him on the spot, but the elf’s keen eye came with a quick mind filled with information.  He had something on this man, Dorian assumed, if he posed any sort of threat to the Inquisition. 

“Commander Rutherford is more than capable of seeing to our forces while I’m away,” Lavellan answered. “But we’re not at war, so my armies aren’t my current priority.” 

“Is that so? I’ve heard otherwise.” 

“Then you must not have the best source of information,”  Lavellan said.  “I’d be happy to give you a tour of Skyhold, to put your mind at ease.  As I’ve reassured everyone, we’re putting all of our resources into helping Southern Thedas recover after the Breach.” 

Furtune crinkled his nose and pulled back his upper lip.  “I couldn’t imagine traveling through those horrid mountains.  I’ll have to take your word for it, Inquisitor.  But if you’re so busy with restoration efforts, then what are you doing here?”  For the first time, his eyes cut to Dorian.  

“I took some time to meet with my partner,” Lavellan said.  He doesn’t shy away from the information like Dorian might.   “We live apart, and so we chose Orlais to meet.  We had hoped its beaches would provide us some solace this season.” 

“I see.”  Futune hadn’t taken his eyes off Dorian.  His hazel eyes narrowed behind his mask.  “Dorian Pavus, I presume?” 

“The very same,” Dorian said.   He bowed at the waist, only to lean into Lavellan’s side when he rose again.  “Orlais isn’t as nice as Tevinter in the summer, but I can see why you flock to the ocean’s side.” 

“Yes,”  An awkward silence stretched between them.  Then, Furtune took the comfort Dorian sought in his lover and turned it against him.  “And it’s not like you had much choice. Orlesians are more open about their… affairs.  Maybe it wouldn’t be such a problem if your fellow Magisters saw you in the company of another man, but I couldn’t imagine their reactions if they knew it was an elf.” 

Lavellan laughed at his side.  His polite facade broke with the crashing waves.   The sound rattled with the edge only a growl could give it.  

Dorian’s stomach twisted as he instinctively reached for the Veil.  He patted himself on the back for maintaining his composure as he starred the hateful cretin down.  “If you hoped to break the news to them, Furtune, your out of luck.  Many of my colleagues in the Senate already know of my relationship, as do our associates in the South.  We’re on a public beach, for Andraste’s sake, it can’t be much of a secret.” 

Furtune tapped his nose with his index finger, then pointed at the couple accusingly. “Yes, you are walking on a public beach! A knife-ear, and Tevinter Scum, two things that the good people of Orlais don’t want to see.  Moreover, there are talks of removing you from power, which I wholeheartedly agree with.” 

“Oh, how that pains me to hear.” Lavellan deadpanned. 

“But how much quicker would the people be moved to that notion if they heard you were conspiring with your Tevinter consort? Working with him? Swayed to do his bidding, like so many elves before you?” 

Dorian considered lighting the man on fire, but Lavellan had other plans. 

His lover turned to him, and placed his hand beneath his chin.  Dorian knew what was coming, but he still blinked in surprise as the elf brought him into a tender kiss.  A second passed before Dorian’s mind caught up, he threw his arms around Lavellan’s shoulders, and returned Lavellan’s kiss with his tongue passing against his bottom lip.  The kiss deepened, hot and heavy with Furtune as their witness.   

Lavellan allowed a soft moan to leave him, not one loud enough for the children to hear, but one that would scandalize the noble who dared to threaten them with their own relationship.  When Lavellan finally pulled away, he had to wipe the corner of his lip with the back of his sleeve.  “I believe I am under your spell, ma lath.  Besotted. Devoted.” 

“That can’t be right,”  Sweet words weren’t rare between them, yet Dorian’s heart still skipped a beat.  “Because you had me the moment we met, Amatus.  Handsome, intelligent, caring, generous.  Truly, I’m the luckiest man in the Thedas.” 

Lavellan smiled in return, and leaned in close.  His next kiss pressed firmly against Dorian’s forehead.  “You’re all those things and more.  Don’t sell yourself short.” 

Dorian considered tackling his lover to the sand, or picking him up and running into the surf, but then he remembered that they were dealing with a bigot with an axe to grind.  With his anxiety eased, he turned to Furtune and gasped.  “Oh, you’re still here?”

The ignored noble had gone red in the face.  “Of course I’m still here! We were in the middle of the conversation, that was incredibly rude.” 

He voiced his complaints behind closed doors, whenever he and his husband had a moment alone together at the end of a long day.  Lavellan watched him pace the room from the edge of the bed, his keen eyes alight with amusement as he let Dorian have his moment before gently reminding him that Caterina was visiting them for a reason, one that didn’t include stepping on his toes. 

Caterina’s rich accent floated through the garden, breaking through the birdsong and the rustle of leaves, “I would like Treviso’s Grand Cleric to oversee the ceremony.” 

Dorian canted his head to the side.  “You’ve been here for a week and are only mentioning this now? Our family knows the Divine personally, surely he should oversee the ceremony-” 

“He?”  Her tone is clipped, and cold.  “That is not the true Andrastian way, we need sanction from the Sunburst Throne and the Sunburst Throne alone.” 

On his left, a chair creaked as Rook shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  She leaned into Lucanis’ side as her eyes darted between their parental figures.   Dorian hadn’t pushed religion on her growing up, he was Andrastian, Lavellan had the Elven Pantheon as a child, and she could make her own choices, but for a marriage to be recognized, a member of the chantry had to be there.   He wanted it to be Ashur.   Rook knew Ashur, he trusted Ashur, and it would be another pair of eyes in a room full of assassins… 

Dorian’s gaze shifted to his right, where Lavellan had pushed his chair closer to his. Their knees bumped underneath the table.  A prosthetic hand landed on his thigh and squeezed gently.  He met his husband’s eye, who gave a small shrug of his shoulders.  The Imperium would recognize a wedding sanctioned outside of its borders, this was merely a matter of pride.  Like many things in the past week, Dorian would need to be the bigger man. 

He sighed.  “Very well.  We can have your Chantry representatives sanction the marriage, but I would like to invite some individuals from the Sunburst Throne directly.” 

Caterina lifted her teacup to her lips, and to her credit, appeared unphased by this information.  “You’ve friends there?” 

“Of course,” Lavellan now placed his hand atop Dorian’s on the table as a visible show of support.  Naturally, he waited for the right moment to make himself seem more like a doting husband, and less like a sentinel, always on his guard.   “We’re personal friends with Divine Victoria, I thought that was public information?” 

Dorian smiled, and swallowed his warning:  If any harm comes to us, the Divine herself will want answers. 

“I knew you served in the Inquisition together, but I didn’t know how close those relations ran.” 

“Very close,” Lavellan assured,  “In fact, she sanctioned our marriage.”   He brought Dorian’s hand to his lips, and placed a chaste kiss to the golden wedding band on his finger.  

“That’s quite the honor.” 

“Yes.” He agreed. “I doubt she can make this wedding, with her schedule, but we have other friends in her council that would love to support our children on such a momentous day.” 

“We should do what we can to ensure they can attend.” Caterina refilled her cup, and then leaned across the circular table to top off Lavellan’s, too.  

Dorian tried not to gawk.  He should have known, his husband could charm entire courts and defeat Dragons; it's no surprise that he unspooled Caterina Dellamorte’s barbs within seconds.   

Lucanis coughed to gain the attention of the table.  “It will be a great honor to have such esteemed guests there to witness our union, but I want to ensure that the Veilguard will still be the Guests of Honor? They will have their own table, and be in the wedding party-” 

A scoff came from a few feet away, and all eyes turned to Illario, who refused to sit with the others at the table.  He had taken up a lounging chair at the edge of the stone patio, staring out into the lush garden, watching dragon flies and various other creatures flitter between pond and plants.  “I can’t believe you made Davrin your best man,” 

“That’s because he didn’t try to kill me, cousin.” 

“There’s still time,” Illario said, “A wedding is the perfect time to pull off a murder.” 

Dorian narrowed his eyes. He clinched his free hand into a fist.  Magic itched at his fingertips.  He hated this.   He could admit that becoming Archon had made him even more paranoid about his family’s safety, but Illario felt like a threat.  He knew the man had Venatori ties,  he knew that he had sent Lucanis to the Ossurary, and just the thought of it sent the taste of bile rising in his throat-

“Illario, that’s enough.” Caterina picked up her cane and cracked it on the ground.  The resulting sound echoed across the garden.  Lavellan flinched, while birds darted from their shadowed hiding spots.  “Be grateful you’ve received an invitation at all.” 

“Yes,” He scowled. “The lovely couple is very generous.” 

“We want you there, Illario.” Rook said.  “Despite how you feel about it, we still view you as part of the family.  Why else would Lucanis drag you on this trip?”

“To babysit me?”

“Viago could have done that.” 

Illario pursed his lips.  “Will there be wine at this wedding?” 

“So much wine,” Rook turned her gaze to Dorian.  

He did know Wine like the back of his hand, but before he could speak, Caterina said: